Left and Right

On the left side, a gray overcast blankets the sky. A strong chilly wind blows over the high grass, giving it the appearance of waves. Blood red flowers, yellow flowers nearly mustard coloured, and white flowers so dark they are almost gray are scattered throughout the field. There are also drab purple flowers, but they aren't typical daisy type flowers like the others. They are in the shape of small snapdragons. A boulder is half buried nearby. Not too far away, two large pine trees and an old barn obstruct the horizon.

The right side is completely different. The sun is shining brightly, and there's hardly a cloud in the sky. A light breeze washes over the field. Every little plant and blade are dancing at their own pace, in random directions and at random frequencies. There is a complete absence of temperature here, if you can image a sensation of being neither hot nor cold. These red flowers are a lively scarlet, these yellow flowers are the colour of bananas, or candy, and these white flowers couldn't be any brighter. There are no purple flowers in this field. There are no boulders. In the distance all there is is an old wooden fence with a few small deciduous trees spaced moderately far apart. After that the field continues.

The flowers are so remarkably different. It's almost hard to picture them in a bouquet together. I wonder if they are the same flowers, and that it's just the lighting that makes them so startlingly different.

Ms. Cat said that we should be in the middle of our two hemispheres. The line goes straight, as I now can see. It shouldn't be so hard to follow, although if this the difference between the two sides, well, I know I've been vacillating; Bouncing back and forth between the two sides. Who would've thought walking a straight line could be so hard?

Lindy I love you
Your music is amazing
Here is a haiku

It cannot express
How great that performance was
My words can't either

This is what life has boiled down to. I can't just be who I am, what I am. I need degrees, an education, a respectable job. How many years of my life will be spent toiling through society's trials just because people think that nothing could come out of an 'uneducated' underachieving teenager. They can go fuck themselves. If I'm nothing to them than their society, their ways of life, and their lives are nothing to me. I don't need to go to university just because there's some overwhelming all-consuming social stigma which states that one is less than the elite few just because they don't have three letters behind their name.

We need to conform, we need to do what's expected of us, or else we're NOTHING. And how's nothing supposed to change the world? How's nothing supposed to make it a better place? How is NOTHING ever going to amount to ANYTHING if those who consider themselves SOMETHING aren't willing to listen to the words of someone who's Nothing?

I don't need to do what they want me to. I don't need to do what I'm supposed to do; what they expect a worthy person, anyone who's to be anything to do. I don't need to make myself into something I'm not, just so that they'd give my writing a second glace; Just to give my ideals a second chance. This isn't what life is supposed to be: Submit to conformity, live in obscurity, or kill yourself.

I think I'll give humanity what I have to offer, hope that they listen to, or at least hear the message I am trying to get across; and then I'll kill myself. Fuck this shit, this isn't what life is supposed to be. I don't know what they're all thinking, but this is definitely not it. I have no desire to live a cookie cutter life, inside their perimeters, according to their ways; the way everyone else seems to have no problems with doing. Fuck this shit: The shit we have to do just to be something in this convoluted, fucked up society.

I think I'd be much happier living out in the woods somewhere far away from all of this pretentious bullshit.

John's the head of a company who deals death,
his buyers puff away, then struggle for breath.

What he's really doing to people is killing,
blind to it John sits in his office chilling.

He never sees the faces of those who've died,
He only sees the profits, from those who've buyed.

On tv, john watches a starving child who'll soon die
he readjusts his fat ass and thinks: "better him than I"

Author's Note

I hope that there will never be a day where our grandkids can't go outside and play, for the air is too polluted for them to breathe. Now, when I say our, I don't mean mine and whoever's. I mean our generation's, everyone's grandkids; And not just them, even their grandchildren, and their grandchildren, and their grandchildren, and so on until the sun engulfs the earth (which is projected to happen about 200 000 years from now if you were wondering).

Already, I see gray upon the the horizon on a clear day. A cloud of pollution hangs over our city, but we don't even have it half as bad as some places, say LA, or certain parts of China. I'd be more specific but I'm not too sure about my Chinese geography, Either way you get my point. The problem is REAL.

I don't want humanity to succumb to the results of it's own pollution. Even if we don't get off earth before some other unstoppable force destroys it, at least we will have had a good run. We will have enjoyed our beautiful planet to the fullest potential, and not just us, every human to live after us. This place is far too important for us to ruin it, and I sincerely hope that we can clean up our act.

I almost wasn't going to post anything today. Honestly, I'm not in the mood. I feel like crap. But i realized that these blogs are basically Ms. Cat throwing marks at us. I'm pretty sure she's marking for completion, rather than content, which is good. I could write whatever the hell I want and it wouldn't matter. I don't even know why I bothered putting effort into those other posts.

Today, I could have wrote a heartfelt, caring post about how we shouldn't destroy our environment, about how cigarettes and drugs are terrible for people, about poetry, about how loathsome my mom is, I could even write about turkey day, or how holidays and funerals function as family reunions, but I'm not going to.

If you want to check out my favourite book (A Scanner Darkly by Philip K Dick) here's a link:
http://arthursbookshelf.com/sci-fi/dick/philip%20k.%20dick%20-%20a%20scanner%20darkly.pdf
It's about drugs, but not how great they are or how fucked they, It's how they are; and they just happen to be Fucked.

Here's a quote from the Author's Note. It's about those who've done drugs.

"They wanted to have a good time, but they were like children playing in the street; they could see one after another of them being killed--run over, maimed, destroyed--but they continued to play anyhow. We really all were very happy for a while, sitting around not toiling but just bullshitting and playing, but it was for such a terrible brief time, and then the punishment was beyond belief"